


Rain

by DragoninaTree



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Death, Gen, Peaceful, Rain, tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:47:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragoninaTree/pseuds/DragoninaTree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry only dies when it rains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I posted on fanfiction.net, along with other short-stories. I'm quite satisfied with how this one turned out.

  
  
**1.**

Little Harry was woken up as his Mama burst into his bedroom. She ran to him picked him up, and placed him as gently as she could in the closet

"Harry, it is very important that you are as quiet as you can be. Remember Harry, you are so loved. Mama loves you. Dada loves you. Harry, be safe, be strong. "

The last thing Harry saw for a bit was his Mama's strained smile, and the door behind her being blasted open. Then nothing.

"Not Harry!"

Harry could hear his Mama's voice through the closet door,

"Please, no, not Harry – I'll do anything!"

A cold cruel laugh, "Avada Kedavra!" and a heavy thump as something hit the floor.

Harry could hear a couple of steps before the door opened and he was blinded by light. Yet, he smiled widely up at the figure in front of him, thinking it was his Mama coming to take him out of the closet.

A stick was pointed at him, similar to the one he had seen his Mama and Dada use so many times. He gurgled happily.

"Avada Kedavra."

He giggled, he liked the pretty green light.

And Harry died for the first time, on a rainy October night.  
  


oOo

**2.**

The second time Harry died, he was only five years old.

Harry had broken a plate as he was doing the dishes. His uncle, in his rage, had thrown him out into the cold autumn evening.

His clothes, his far too large clothes, were soaked within minutes. His uncle's cruel words were still echoing in his head.

"I hope you die out there, freak."

At first, he had knocked relentlessly on the front door, but after his uncle, his face a nasty shade of purple, had stomped out and smacked the child so he fell into a puddle, Harry had abandoned that particular idea.

He didn't dare to approach one of the neighbors' homes either, in fear of the later repercussions. Not to mention that none of them were particularly fond of Harry either way.

And so, Harry curled up against the wall on the backside of the house, in an attempt to get away from the icy wind and the rain that felt like small whips on his skin. Sometimes, he stood up to peek through the window into the living room, his relatives sitting there watching the telly.

He envied them for the warmth. He was so incredibly  _cold._

Slowly, Harry started dozing off, feeling himself slip away. His last thought that the cupboard wasn't so bad, after all.  
  


oOo

**3.**

The third time was the night after Harry had saved Ginny from Tom Riddle and killed the Basilisk in the Chamber.

The other boys who shared a dorm with him had already fallen asleep, and Harry found himself once again sitting in the window, as he so often did when insomnia befell him.

The window was a comfort to him, a comfort he never had as a child, locked away in a dark cupboard. Now he could look over the grounds, sometimes catching sight of an owl flying by.

The memory of the Basilisk and a young Voldemort kept him awake, but so did the sweat, the shivers, the pain and his breathing, coming in short and heavy puffs which left damp on the window.

He closed his eyes and lent his forehead against the cool window, watching the raindrops slowly slide down the glass, leaving a trail of water behind.

Harry took a deep breath.

Fog covered the window a final time as the Basilisk venom in his system stopped his heart.  
  


oOo

**4.**

There was nothing he could do.

He couldn't think of a happy enough memory to cast a Patronus. He was so cold, both from the presence of the Dementor and the rain. The Dementor made the rain as cold as ice, whereas before it had been a nice warm temperature.

Dudley had already ran home shortly after they'd felt the cold, after Harry had ushered him to do so. At least his cousin, - whom he may not be fond of, but still wouldn't wish a Dementor's Kiss on, would be safe and sound.

And while cold rain dripped down on him, turning into ice as soon as it landed on his face, Harry could feel the Dementor coming closer and closer, the screams in his head grew louder and louder, and he could feel as though everything he was disappeared through his mouth.

And so, the fourth time Harry died was when he was barely fifteen, to the Kiss of a Dementor.  
  


oOo

**5.**

The fifth time Harry died, was by his own choice.

"Avada Kedavra."

It was necessary; it had to be done, so that one of Voldemorts last horcruxes could be destroyed.

So that Voldemort himself could be destroyed.  
  


oOo

**6.**

Ginny had left him. Told him she had met another, that he was great and she would always care about him, but there was something different and special with this muggle she had met.

Their children were mostly grown up now, Lily in her sixth year at Hogwarts with James and Albus already graduated. They were sad, and supported their father to the best of their ability, but bore no anger towards their mother.

It hadn't stopped their father from going out this weekend to a muggle bar, drinking himself so drunk he could barely walk. That was how he had ended up lying in this dump, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, sobbing.

"I'm pathetic." He whispered to himself as he stared up at the cloudy sky, raindrops pouring down on him, his glasses covered in small water drops.

It was winter now, cold with a harsh northern wind, but still not quite cold enough for snow.

Yet, the alcohol made him feel warm enough to not be bothered too much by the cold.

"Blasted rain. Bloody Ginny. See if that muggle will have you for long, bet he doesn't know you're a witch. As magical as you are fucking beautiful."

He took another long sip from his bottle, before lying down and closing his eyes. He would just take a little nap before going home.

This was the sixth time Harry died, the first time he died since the prophecy wouldn't revive him anymore. It was also the first and only time, him being the Master of Death would take him from deaths slumber.  
  


oOo

**7.**

The seventh and final time Harry died, he was a grand one hundred and twenty-seven years old, lying on his death bed surrounded by his three children, and their wives and husband and eight children.

He had in the end led an eventful and happy life, filled with joys and laughter.

"Lily dear, would you please do your old father a favor and open the window?"

Lily, now old herself but still the youngest of Harry's children, did as her father requested. It was pouring outside, more than ever. Storm of the Millennia, the Daily Prophet had nicknamed it.

"I have died six times." Harry said, causing his family to look at him strangely.

"Every time, it rained. Now more than ever." He smiled, "It welcomes me, calls me home. And this time, there is no returning."

He closed his eyes and smiled, "It is like an old friend, whom I had almost forgotten, yet dearly missed."

The wind was blowing heavily, drops of rain blowing through the window and landing on Harry's face. Lily let out a hard, heavy sob.

The rain gave him peace.


End file.
